Sublime
by headoverheels4HP
Summary: A three part look into the intertwined lives of two people who's hate turns to love in the midst of a war. Sublime is more than beauty, it's speechlessness.
1. Part I

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. The rest is all J.K Rowling **

**Sublime**

Part I

_The word sublime in reference to aesthetics is more than beauty, according to Immanuel Kant, a German philosopher. He noted that beauty is connected with the form of the object having "boundaries", while the sublime is to be found in a formless object, represented by "boundlessness." Sublime occurs when we encounter something we can't explain with words and includes a quality of greatness or vast magnitude. The experience of the sublime involves a self-forgetfulness where personal fear is replaced by a sense of well-being and security when confronted with an object exhibiting superior might. Overwhelmed with speechlessness, we stand at the precipice of life and beauty and there are no words to describe what we're feeling, what we're seeing. _

Does anyone know when the important moments in their lives are? What of the small moments in time, the seconds that alter the course of our lives forever, will we look back and recognize these times or never realize that it was in these moments that our lives were changed. Hermione Granger had no idea when she entered her potions class that this was the instant—this was the time in which her life would forever be changed. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck, moistening the perfectly pressed collar she wore with pride. She pulled her hair into a frizzy pony tail on the crown of her head and took a deep breath of the delectable smelling potion in front of her. She recognized it immediately of course: Amortentia, one of the strongest love potions in the world. It smelled divine and she had the strangest urge to lie in bed with the covers cocooned around her and read her favorite book. Professor Slughorn waddled to the front of the classroom and began asking about each potion he had lined up in front of the class. She answered willingly as she always did. He finally reached the pearly potion in front of Hermione's desk and asked who knew what it was.

"It's Amortentia!" she answered readily.

"It is indeed, it almost seems foolish to ask," Said an impressed Slughorn, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" she gushed, taking in the pearly smoke.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—" but she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence. Hermione tilted her head down in embarrassment. She had almost admitted it out loud. She almost admitted her secret, a secret held in her heart under lock and key and spell. She snuck a look out of the corner of her eye over at _him_, draped across his chair casually, easily, as if he lived in the potions classroom. Everything he did was casual, deliberate, and languid. From the way he tapped his long fingers against the desk, to his mouth tilted slightly in a purposeful smirk. She turned back to her open potions book, her mouth set in a determined line. This was a phase, a passing fancy and nothing more. There was no way she could find _him_ at all attractive.

She didn't even know the exact moment she had decided he was good-looking. One day she observed the curve of his strong back, two weeks later she noticed his smile from across the great hall, and four days after that she caught his fathomless glance from across the classroom. It was a buildup of casual observation until one night she woke up breathing rapidly, his face fading from her mind, and it was then that she realized that she found him not just mildly attractive, but heartbreakingly beautiful. Although she would deny it if anyone asked.

Class passed quickly and as soon as it was dismissed, she was up and out of the room. Ducking her head and pulling her bag across her slim shoulders, she hurried down the corridors until she reached Moaning Myrtle's bathroom which was almost always deserted. She closed herself in a stall and began to breathe deeply; in and out, in and out, in and out. She heard the door open and someone come in, footsteps echoing softly.

_In and out_

She heard the faucet turn on, and the steady sounds of breathing.

_In and out _

The breathing became gasps and Hermione knew she wasn't alone in her misery.

_In and out_

She quietly opened her stall and had to stifle a gasp at who exactly was leaning over the sink. Grey jumper stretched tight over a taunt back, hair dripping with water, face dripping with tears—it was _him_. He turned around sharply, narrow chin set defiantly, ready for a fight.

"Granger, what a surprise." His voice didn't waver from its standard silkiness.

"Likewise, Malfoy," she said, hiding her shaking hands behind her back in a tight clasp. She saw his hand twitch in the direction of his wand. She moved to the left as he did the right, circling each other, round and round.

"You alright?" she asked, keeping her voice light as she stepped to the side once more.

"Just peachy, Granger." A hint of a snarl marred his words.

"No need to be hostile, Malfoy. Just being polite," she said, wrapping her hand around the wand in her pocket.

"Be polite somewhere else, won't you Granger?" he asked, taking a step toward her. She backed herself into a wall. His wand was at her throat in an instant and his heady mint scent made her brain slightly fuzzy. "And if you tell anyone about what you saw, you won't be able to open your Mudblood mouth ever again," he hissed, his wand jabbing into her jugular. Hermione took in his bloodshot eyes and pale, drawn face before nodding slowly. He pocketed his wand, still blocking her against the wall.

"Well, haven't you grown up to be a pretty little Mudblood," he smirked as one of his long fingers traced the curve of her jaw and down her pale neck.

"Get off me, Malfoy!" she spat as she shuddered—whether out of disgust or pleasure she didn't know.

"Fine, wouldn't want to get your dirtiness on me anyway," he stepped away from her quickly, leaving her reeling with the lack of proximity and his distinct scent. "I'll see you around, Granger." With the loud slam of the bathroom door, he was gone and now it was Hermione's turn to weep.

* * *

><p>Flipping the page of her novel, she looked up at the commotion that tumbled into the Gryffindor common room. She allowed herself a small smile at the sight of her friends, sweaty and decked out in Quidditch gear. They collapsed into the chairs around the fire in slumps of red and gold.<p>

"Hey Herms, watcha reading?" Ginny asked, propping her feet up on the table loudly.

"Shakespeare," she replied casually, dog-earing her page and setting the play aside. "How was practice?" she asked.

"Long…this guy had us do drills for an hour straight," Ron said, lazily throwing one of his shoulder pads at Harry's general chest area.

"Hey! It's not my fault that I have to whip you slackers into shape," he replied, easily catching the shoulder pad and throwing it back at Ron in one smooth motion. It hit Ron in the side of the head and his dazed expression was enough to send both Hermione and Ginny into a fit of giggles.

"Oi!" Ron yelled, pushing himself out of his chair and onto Harry as they began to wrestle in a distinctly boy-like fashion. Hermione and Ginny looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"If you two are done acting like Neanderthals, you can ask Hermione about that potions essay that you both have yet to start," Ginny stated sternly, the set of her mouth markedly like her mothers.

"You haven't started!" Hermione cried, aghast, staring at her two best friends who looked back at her sheepishly.

"Shut up, Ginny… We've started, but can you look over it for us, Mione?" Ron pleaded as he and Harry looked at her pitifully.

"Ugh, fine…go get your things," she said, settling back in her armchair with a sigh. Ginny disappeared into the Girls dormitories to change and the boys were stomping back down the stairs in record time, their bags banging against their legs and the stairs.

"Thanks so much, Mione. You're a life saver!" Harry said, swinging his bag onto the table, quills and parchment popping out from the top. They both rifled through the mess they called a book-bag and finally pulled out a crumpled roll of parchment each. Hermione took the essays with a roll of her eyes and with a flick of her wand un-wrinkled them, then she went about correcting them. She made little sighs and huffs of annoyance as her wand casually corrected mistakes. Harry and Ron talked about everything from new plays, the food in the great hall, to Dumbledore's meetings that Harry went too. The last topic was only discussed under a hastily cast _Muffliato_ spell. Hermione was just finishing Harry's final paragraph when the conversation shifted.

"I swear, he just disappears off the map!"

"Let it go, Harry. Who-the-bloody-hell-cares what Malfoy is doing in the Room of Requirement," Ron said, exasperated. Both he and Hermione were tired of Harry's incessant obsession with Malfoy being a Death Eater.

"It's just strange is all…I wish I knew what he was doing…" Harry trailed off. Hermione ignored the flush in her cheeks and the slight tremor of her hand. She hadn't told anyone about her crush or their meeting in the bathroom. And she didn't plan on telling anyone either. It was normal for a teenage girl to be attracted to the bad boy…right?

"Maybe ferret face is shagging Crabe and Goyle in there or something," Ron quipped, digging in his bag for his deck of exploding snap.

"That is one mental picture I could have gone the rest of my life without," Hermione said dryly, wrinkling her nose.

"I second that statement," Harry said, making a gagging noise.

Ron only shrugged innocently as he laid his cards down on the table, but it was then that Hermione corrected the last sentence of their papers and the common room door opened to the screech of, "WON WON!" The common room collectively winced at the shrill sound of Lavender's voice.

"Well, that's my cue to leave," Hermione said, gathering her things and rushing up the stairs into her dormitory, leaving Harry struggling to gather his papers and Ron already sucking face with his girlfriend.

* * *

><p>Lying on top of the astronomy tower, Hermione let her mind shut down, giving herself a few minutes of rest and peace. She had laid a blanket out and was stretched across it, wearing her old jeans and favorite jumper. Her fingers mindlessly traced patterns across the quilt as she closed her eyes and breathed in the crisp night air.<p>

_In and out_

"Enjoying yourself, Granger?" His voice was like water across silk, and she cursed the goosebumps that rose across her chest and arms.

"Actually yes, so could you leave?" she said, her eyes still closed.

"I'm enjoying the view," he said lowly. She opened her eyes to see him sitting precariously on the edge of the tower wall, his legs dangling off the edge, his body facing the grounds. One wrong move and he would fall to his death. His face was shadowed in the moonlight, and he had never looked more dangerous.

She averted her eyes and looked up to the sky, "Do you think there's an alternate universe where things turn out differently?" she asked.

"I wouldn't know, Granger…" he stood up and balanced himself on the ledge, his toes on the edge and his body facing the expanse of the Hogwarts lawn. "I hope so," he said, so quietly Hermione wasn't sure if she was supposed to even hear.

He stretched his arms wide as if to embrace the midnight sky. His body flexed and he tilted up onto his toes as if to dive off the tower. It was horrifying and beautiful and Hermione was speechless, words caught like flies in her throat. He tilted his head to the sky, moonlight falling across his face; a fallen angel or a beautiful demon. Hermione didn't know.

His voice fell from his lips in a whisper, "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow."

A chill raced down Hermione's spine as he was tilting forwards. She shot up from the ground wrapped her arms around his waist and jerked him backwards on top of her and onto the safety of the tower floor. His body knocked the breath out of her, and she gasped to get it back as he rolled off of her.

"Damn it Granger, why didn't you let me jump?" He cursed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes.

"What is wrong with you, Malfoy?" she screamed as she jumped up in anger.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you? When someone is trying to die you let them die, damn it!" He rose up to tower over her.

"You scared the shit out of me, asshole!" She pushed him angrily.

His fingers wrapped around her wrists tightly, "Just leave me alone, Granger," he sneered. Their eyes caught. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his dark stare, his eyes were sunken with depravation and they were as clear as smoke. When he tore himself away from her, she staggered back. She rubbed her wrists in pain and he was gone. For the next week she had to wear long sleeves to cover the hand-shaped bruises on her wrists.

* * *

><p>It had been weeks since the incident on the Astronomy tower and every night, Hermione woke herself up in a cold sweat to the sight of Draco plummeting to his death over the ledge, his body twisted and bloody on the front lawn. She had begun to take a nightly bath in the prefect's bathroom in hopes that it would calm her down enough that she wouldn't have nightmares. So far it hadn't worked. Sinking down into the comfort of the warm water and strawberry bubbles, Hermione sighed, her muscles melting into relaxation. She closed her eyes and let herself float at the top, her hair swirling around her, her breathing deep and slow and loud in her ears.<p>

_In and out_

"Well, well, what do we have here…" His voice spurred her body to attention in embarrassing ways and she quickly ducked under the water, hoping the bubbles covered enough of her up.

"Malfoy! Get out!" she screeched, part in humiliation and part in frustration.

"I came to get a bath, and I'm going to do just that - with or without you in here," he said coolly. Hermione averted her eyes as he began to strip. She heard each of his items of clothing dropping to the stone floor before the soft splash of him slipping into the water. She willed the blush staining her cheeks to disappear as she turned back to look at him. His arms stretched along the edge of the pool, his eyes observing her lazily, his smirk predatory, deadly. She backed up against the opposite side of the pool; she couldn't get out without him seeing her…all of her. Slowly, he began to make his way toward her. He moved through the water soundlessly and purposefully.

_From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate._

_-Socrates_

She sunk into the water up to her neck, silently begging him not to come closer. He stole her breath with his determination, and she knew she would never be able to tell him no. He was her kryptonite, the one person who could make her stomach coil with only a glance, no matter how he treated her. Whether it was simply her shallowness at his attractiveness or maybe the danger he offered, or possibly the sadness that lurked behind those smoke screen eyes. Whatever it was, Draco Malfoy made her weak, and Hermione was powerless to stop it, powerless to stop him.

"Do you want me, Granger?" he asked deeply, his voice vibrating in the hollowness of her chest.

"Of course not, Malfoy," she lied. He could tell.

"I think you do…Hermione," her name a caress across his lips.

"Why do you want me? A Mudblood?" she asked, focusing on anything but his dark eyes.

"I'm going to hell anyway," he murmured, his lips brushing softly against her shoulder.

"Please don't," she begged unconvincingly, chill bumps rising along the skin of her chest and shoulders. He hummed against her skin, his fingers twisting into her wet curls and before she could utter one more protest, he was kissing her mouth. Dominantly, he nipped and sucked at her lips, sliding his tongue into her mouth as she gasped for breath. He had pressed them up against the side of the pool, water rippling, pulling, and pressing around them. He gripped her side with his hand, fingertips pressing into her hip bone, anchoring himself to her, holding them together as they used each other. Hermione's mind was a strange sort of blankness, filled with bursts of color and sound. Soon all she knew was speechlessness and pleasure and when they were done, he left her in the now cold water. Her cries seemed especially loud in her ears as they echoed across stone and water.

For weeks afterward, she would stare at herself in the mirror and trace the hand print on her hip. At night she would press her fingers into the painful groves where his fingertips had damaged her. A part of her wished that he would pull her into an abandoned classroom; the other part avoided him constantly. She watched him covertly over the rest of the school year: the way his face paled to a mild grey, the sunkenness of his eyes, and the thin line of his downward-turned mouth. She inwardly denied her worry for him, but the memories of their meetings didn't fade and neither did her attraction to him. She woke up often with his name dying on her lips and his eyes fading from her dreams. She wondered if he thought of her too, if she lived in his memories and thrived in his dreams. She doubted it, since he never came to her again even though she secretly longed for his touch. They never met together again, and when he ran away with Snape after Dumbledore was murdered, no one knew that some of the tears she shed were for the broken boy she had given her heart to.


	2. Part II

**Sublime**

Part II

_**sublime**__ [səˈblaɪm] adj:_

_1. of high moral, aesthetic, intellectual, or spiritual value; noble; exalted_

_2. inspiring deep veneration, awe, or uplifting emotion because of its beauty, nobility, grandeur, or immensity_

_3. unparalleled; supreme a sublime compliment_

_4. Poetic of proud bearing or aspect_

_5. Archaic raised up_

_Both beauty and the sublime share the characteristics of a moral judgment in that they are disinterested, and universal, but unlike beauty the sublime shares the character of moral judgments as a concept of reason. The feeling of the sublime is derived from one's estimation of natural objects which relates a boundlessness and lack of form, and the realization that they are not equal to the expectations of one's moral ideas, which is at the same time our exaltation in the realization of our own capacity as moral and rational beings._

_Immanuel Kant_

Hermione let out a scream, her voice raw and broken from what felt like hours of screaming. She was unaware of Bellatrix's body straddling hers, holding her down as she twisted and thrashed under the _Cruciatus_ curse.

"Pretty, pretty little Mudblood," Bella sang, the tip of her wand digging into the pale skin of Hermione's forearm. The pain was beyond anything the young girl had ever felt. Her back arched off the floor, cracking unnaturally. Her eyes rolled back into her head as Bellatrix carved the inside of her arm. She was sobbing, her chest aching and tight.

"Everyone will know how low you are," Bellatrix snarled, continuing to slice into Hermione's forearm.

Hermione twisted her face away from the sight of her bloody arm, fat tears falling rapidly from her eyes. She saw _him_ standing there, staring at her. She saw everything in his eyes—every touch, every glance, and every regret—it reflected back at her. His expression didn't change from its careful blankness. Not a muscle twitched; he was controlled and careful but she saw his struggle.

As Bella cut particularly deep, Hermione cried out in agony and desperation. "Draco, please help…" she wept. She saw his wand hand twitch, the almost nonexistent bunch in his shoulders, and then his silent plea. She knew he was in the middle of a war just like the rest of them, just on the other side of it. She knew he would be killed for any form of disobedience, so she turned her head way from him and bit her lip, drawing the metallic taste of blood into her mouth.

"Draco, Draco…" Bellatrix taunted. "He won't help you, he hates you," she said, drawing the last cut with her wand and pulling back to admire her handiwork. The word 'Mudblood' was carved into her skin rudimentarily, the letters dripping blood. Suddenly the weight of Bellatrix's body was lifted and there was commotion from the top of the stairs. Hermione was too weak to do much but lay hopelessly. Someone was helping her up, and she went willingly. Her body was numb and buzzing with adrenaline washing through her veins, overriding the pain. There was screaming and shouting, a crash, and then they were on the beach. She crumbled to her knees, staring at the dead elf in her best friends arms. The pain rushed back into her body and she began to sob. It all felt so hopeless.

* * *

><p>Hermione crumpled up the letter in her hand. It was risky, wrong, dangerous, but he had done it anyway. She memorized his words, the poem, that he had sent her. It wasn't signed but she knew he had sent it. No one else would send something so cryptic or so perfect. In flawless cursive he wrote,<p>

_Let such pure hate still underprop_

_Our love, that we may be_

_Each other's conscience,_

_And have our sympathy_

_Mainly from thence._

_We'll one another treat like gods,_

_And all the faith we have_

_In virtue and in truth, bestow_

_On either, and suspicion leave_

_To gods below._

_Two solitary stars-_

_Unmeasured systems far_

_Between us roll;_

_But by our conscious light we are_

_Determined to one pole._

_What need confound the sphere?-_

_Love can afford to wait;_

_For it no hour's too late_

_That witnesseth one duty's end,_

_Or to another doth beginning lend._

_It will subserve no use,_

_More than the tints of flowers;_

_Only the independent guest_

_Frequents its bowers,_

_Inherits its bequest._

_No speech, though kind, has it;_

_But kinder silence doles_

_Unto its mates;_

_By night consoles,_

_By day congratulates._

_What saith the tongue to tongue?_

_What hearest ear of ear?_

_By the decrees of fate_

_From year to year,_

_Does it communicate._

_Pathless the gulf of feeling yawns;_

_No trivial bridge of words,_

_Or arch of boldest span,_

_Can leap the moat that girds_

_The sincere man._

_No show of bolts and bars_

_Can keep the foeman out,_

_Or 'scape his secret mine,_

_Who entered with the doubt_

_That drew the line._

_No warder at the gate_

_Can let the friendly in;_

_But, like the sun, o'er all_

_He will the castle win,_

_And shine along the wall._

_There's nothing in the world I know_

_That can escape from love,_

_For every depth it goes below,_

_And every height above._

_It waits, as waits the sky,_

_Until the clouds go by,_

_Yet shines serenely on_

_With an eternal day,_

_Alike when they are gone,_

_And when they stay._

_Implacable is Love-_

_Foes may be bought or teased_

_From their hostile intent,_

_But he goes unappeased_

_Who is on kindness bent._

_-Henry David Thoreau, "Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop"_

How the plain tawny owl had managed to find her at Shell Cottage she would never know, but when she'd gotten the unmarked post she knew immediately who it had been from. She stood at the edge of the sea, water rushing across her feet and soaking the bottom of her jeans. The sun was rising over the rough water in a splash of red and gold. She ripped the letter into pieces and let them flutter into the ocean. She watched the scraps dissolve into water as she stared out at the choppy grey waves. They rolled and pushed the foam bubbling around her toes. There was a fog rolling in quickly and a wet chill was setting across her arms. Wrapping them around her waist, she turned and headed back toward the house, the poem she had just memorized on loop in her brain.

Hermione stepped inside the cozy beach cottage, quickly spotting Luna curled up by the fireplace. She fell onto the couch next to her friend, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and pulling it around her chilled body. They were silent for a moment before Hermione spoke up.

"Luna…do you believe in fate?" she asked as they both quietly observed the flames.

"Somewhat, all our decisions individually effect our lives. I don't think anything is predetermined." Luna replied with a surprising lack of whimsy.

"I think I agree with you," Hermione said softly as they listened to the slow awakening of the people in the cottage. They could hear the creaking of beds and soft footsteps as everyone begin to wake for another day.

"What do you think of love during the war," Hermione asked her wise friend in a hasty whisper.

"Love is the most powerful magic Hermione and it's always worth pursuing," bright blue eyes turned from the fireplace to regard Hermione in a way that made her feel naked and torn apart. "What if it's impossible Luna?" she replied, staring into the caring face of her friend.

"When it comes to love, nothing is impossible," Luna said softly just as the boys came rushing into the kitchen ripping open cabinets in search of food. Both girls got up to help cook but Luna's wise words never left Hermione. And when she lay at bed each night she held them close to her heart, the mantra that kept her hope alive.

_Nothing is impossible._

* * *

><p>Hermione could hear her blood rushing as she ran through the corridors of a crumbling Hogwarts castle. The smell of blood and fire filled her head as she skidded around another corner. She had become separated from Ron in the Great Hall and she was on her way to find Tonks who was stationed on the Astronomy Tower. She passed bodies lying bloody on the ground, too late for any kind of savior. The sound of her breathing was the only thing she could hear as started to pound up the stairs to the tower. Suddenly, the wall next to her opened and she was pulled into a hidden alcove. She started to scream, but the person wrapped a hand around her mouth.<p>

"Shhh…" he whispered in her ear and she relaxed against the body behind her.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she hissed turning to face him in the small outlet. He didn't answer her. Dark eyes studied her intently. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs tracing the fragile skin underneath her eyes, one thumb brushed down the curve of her nose to rest on her bottom lip.

"Draco…" she sighed helplessly. He shushed her softly, his hands sliding down the sides of her pale neck, just feeling her blood race through her veins before traveling back to thread into her wild curls. He tilted her head forward slowly and she felt her eyes drop closed slowly. His fingertips ran across her eyelids before she felt the soft pressure of his lips on her forehead. His mouth skimmed down the bridge of her nose to linger almost pressing against her lips, their breath mingled together and he wiped away the errant tear that slipped down her cheek. He mumbled two words against her lips, and she let out a dry sob.

"Hermione, goodbye."

Suddenly, the alcove was cold and he was gone. She slipped back into the staircase, twisting the fabric of her shirt in her fist, wishing the tightness in her chest would disappear. She didn't have time for this; she didn't have time to _feel_. Why did he always do this to her, make her feel so much and then leave her? The Astronomy Tower was deserted, so she turned around and ran back out onto the front lawn, seeing everyone gathered around. She rushed to the front, grabbing onto the back of Ron's robe. Seeing her best friend comatose on the ground, she buried her face into Ron's shoulder for a second before turning to face the man who had ruined so many lives. He was gloating, smirking with victory and her eyes met Draco's across the lawn. A world of apologies, regrets, and hope passed between them, and then suddenly Harry was alive and the lawn broke out into chaos.

Soon Voldemort lay dead along with what seemed like hundreds of others, and it was over. Finally over, and it seemed like everything and nothing lay ahead. And time suddenly seemed like such a large concept. Life was only now beginning.


	3. Part III

**Sublime**

Part III

_There is beauty and there is beauty. The two are not mutually exclusive, but rather represent two poles on a continuum. At one pole is the beauty that is associated with a sense of lightness and balanced order. It has a faintly decorative quality to it. At the other extreme is the much darker form of beauty that we associate with profundity and truth. This latter form of beauty I will analyze in terms of the containment of the sublime. The distinction between these two extremes of beauty has less to do with the objects under consideration, whether a flower, a sunset, a poem, a painting, or a piece of music, than it does with the attitude of the considerer of the object. That is, anything that possesses beauty of the first kind can also be viewed as possessing beauty of the second kind, if the attention of the viewer is directed appropriately. The differential across the continuum is constituted by the degree of awareness of the element of the sublime in the beautiful._

_Richard Gilmore_

_Concordia College_

Hermione let the sun beat down on her skin; it was a beautiful day for a lunch out. She was sitting under the awning of her favorite Diagon Alley Café breathing in the sunlight and warmth on her lunch break. Working in ministry of magic was tiring; she had begun her work with S.P.E.W now on a greater scale in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The paperwork piled up on her desk at the very moment was toe-curling, but she put it in the back of her mind and took a sip of her iced-tea, suddenly she felt a sudden hush come across the street. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the whispers whipped through the busy Diagon ally street. She looked around hastily immediately spotting who had caused all the commotion. She hadn't seen him in five years, since their eyes had locked across that bloody battle field. He looked older, but not as tired, almost…healed. She was frozen in her seat, turned around staring at him when he turned to look at her, almost as if he knew she was there. She could still feel the softness of his lips on her forehead on that last night, the pressure of his hands against her neck. His mouth lifted at the corner that small grin she felt like was always only for her. He took a step across the street, and she panicked. She was with Ron, engaged-practically married. She couldn't be having these thoughts about a past flame-not even flame…past- she didn't know what they were but she had to leave. Shooting up out of her chair she threw some money onto the table and quickly apparated back to her apartment she shared with Ron. She quickly wrote into work, calling out the rest of the day sick before crawling into her bed and pulling the covers over her body in a feather down cocoon. The small curve of Draco Malfoy's grin haunting her even in her dreams.

He was headlining news on the next morning's Daily Prophet.

**Draco Malfoy Back In London! **

By Parvati Patel

The long lost son of deceased Lucius Malfoy is back in London, he was spotted in Diagon Ally yesterday afternoon around lunch time. Rumor has it that he has spent the last five years in Paris, healing or hiding, we're not sure. He was spotted looking just as handsome as ever ladies, and remember he was never convicted of any crimes during the war. And for all we know he's still single so ladies-

Hermione crumbled up the paper and set it on fire in her office trash can. "Headlining news, better off in that rag Witch Weekly..." she muttered to herself pouring another cup of coffee. She ate lunch in her office for the next week, too afraid to see him again- too afraid to feel again. Two weeks of dreams featuring his sly smile, she heard a knock on her office door her secretary peeped her head in.

"Ms. Granger…you-um have a visitor." her secretary's face was flushed.

"Let them in," she said slowly, her breath caught when the door opened to reveal none-other than the person she had been avoiding for two weeks. He causally sat down in the seat across from her, smiling at her from across her desk.

"So, how have you been Granger?" he asked causally, his voice rushing over her familiarly. Her face flushed in anger, and she closed the door and set a silencing spell.

"You can't just come in here after five years and ask me how I'm doing?" she spat, standing up angrily her hands flat on her desk.

"Missed me Granger?" he asked slyly, smirking at her.

"No…but I thought…" she trailed off blushing, sitting back down and letting her head drop into her hands.

"Thought what?" he said softly, standing up and moving to stand behind her chair his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

"Nothing Malfoy…could you just leave?" she asked helplessly.

"What do you want; I'm here now…just tell me what's wrong." He leaned down and whispered in her ear, his warm breath washing across the skin of her neck.

She whipped away from him standing up and putting space between them, "I waited for you! After everything died down, I said no to Ron because I was waiting on you! It's too late now, you're too late…I'm engaged." She cried, wiping the angry tears from her eyes.

"Hermione…" he said approaching her slowly thumbs wiping the tears slipping from her eyes. "It's okay, I'm back now." He said softly, pulling her into her arms. She clutched the back of his robe, feeling his strong back under her fingertips.

"You're too late, I'm getting married…" she whispered against the fabric of his shirt. He tipped her chin up to stare into her watery eyes; he lowered his mouth and kissed her softly. She melted against his strong body, falling into him. Everything about him made her head swim. His hands slid slowly up her back and sides, before pulling back and staring at the curves of her face, pressing her hair away from her forehead softly. His fingers curling around the back of her neck he pulled her back to him, kissing her slowly.

"Draco…" she murmured against his lips, a plea.

She felt him smile down to her toes, and his hands were suddenly everywhere, her back, her neck, her stomach. She shuddered under his touch, and she lost herself in him. She always could lose herself in his touch. When it was over and he was holding her in the aftermath, kissing the back of her damp neck, his fingers splayed across her hip, his strong body behind her. She wept. She pulled herself away from him and curled into a ball on her office couch.

"Get out." She said quietly, he reached to hold her but she shied away. He dressed quietly and left her. She sobbed quietly into her knees, thinking of all the people she had just hurt, thinking of Ron, she had cheated on him.

With quiet determination she got re-dressed, and resumed her work.

She got married a month later.

She was pregnant within the first year. She made herself forget Draco Malfoy, except in her dreams…he was always in her dreams.

* * *

><p>She saw his wedding announcement in the paper; Astoria Greengrass was beautiful of course. She feigned indifference as she rubbed her pregnant belly.<p>

* * *

><p>She saw him in passing over the years; mostly she saw his rise to fame in the papers. It wasn't until Rose's first year at Hogwarts that they saw each other again. She kissed her daughter on the crown of her head, blinking back tears as she held little Hugo's hand. She looked up trying to blink away her tears when she saw him. He had his hand on the shoulder of his young son, and they locked eyes. As always the world seemed to pass between them, every regret was spoken loud and clear between grey and brown. She turned away first, watching as her daughter hurried onto the train. She watched the train pull away with both happiness and sadness. She waved at her daughter as Hugo squeezed her hand. As Ron lead them away from the tracks and out to the car she turned back to look at him one last time. He raised his mouth slowly in the grin he saved just for her and then he was swallowed by the crowd.<p> 


End file.
